The soft vibration of his phone was almost inaudible beneath the hum of voices and the subtle clinking of ceramic mugs being placed back onto coasters. Grayson stood at the front of the executive conference room, one hand braced on the podium's edge, the other flicking through the tablet beside him. The large floor-to-ceiling windows cast warm Texas light across the burnished oak table, catching against his tailored navy jacket, crisp white cuffs, and the silver of his watch.
The air inside the eleventh-floor conference room was meticulously filtered, chilled perfectly, and carried a faint, invigorating citrus scent, designed to energize and sharpen focus. Grayson, however, barely noticed it. He stood authoritatively at the front of the room, his hands resting on a sleek walnut podium that exuded sophistication. Behind him, a wide screen illuminated with the quarterly growth projections, displayed in crisp, modern serif fonts that commanded attention. His voice was steady, each word carefully calibrated to convey assurance. He exuded confidence, embodying the essence of a leader in complete command.
Mid-sentence—"Let's pivot to the Argyle budget projections…"—his eyes flicked down, catching the brief illumination of the phone face-up beside the presentation remote.
Olivia.
Her name glowed like a beacon. The call buzzed once and then stopped—voicemail. He felt his chest contract, a fraction of breath caught in his throat. The call hadn't even rung. Do not disturb. He activated earlier to keep the team focused and to keep himself focused.
Another ping. He clicked it instinctively.
Olivia: Listen to the voicemail. I love you.
The room gradually dimmed around him, the vibrant colors and sharp edges losing their intensity. The sounds of chatter and shuffling papers dulled, as if he had submerged himself beneath a blanket of water, the noise muffled and distant. He hadn't realized how tightly he was clutching the podium's edge until his fingers started to tingle and lose sensation. "I love you." Those three words glowed on the screen before him, deceptively calm and unassuming, yet within his chest, they exploded with a primal and timeless force, reshaping the essence of his being.
It took every ounce of his willpower not to replay the voicemail right there in the room, not to abandon everything and rush to find her. He swallowed with difficulty, his throat constricted as if bound by invisible cords, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Focus, Grayson, he urged himself silently, trying to tether his mind back to the present.
"Right," he said aloud, his voice taut and strained. "Moving on." The meeting resumed its course, with pens scratching notes on paper and questions being flung across the table. Yet for Grayson, every moment that ticked by after receiving that text was a grueling exercise in self-control, each second stretching like an eternity as he battled the overwhelming urge to act.
The instant the meeting concluded, he sprang into action. The chairs were still in the process of scraping against the floor when he swiftly seized his phone and set off down the hallway. His long strides carried him effortlessly through the polished corridors of Austin HQ, where the walls gleamed with a corporate sheen. The sharp tap of his leather-soled shoes created a syncopated rhythm against the smooth tile, a sound almost like a metronome keeping time with his purposeful pace. Behind him, George followed closely, a determined shadow clutching an iPad, his eyes focused and ready for the next task at hand.
"—So if you could sign off on that today, we can move the permitting timeline up two weeks," George said, striding beside him with two styluses and a tablet in hand. His assistant's voice was precise, efficient, and barely registering.
She said it.
He pressed Olivia's name straight to voicemail.
His thumb hovered over her contact again, his jaw flexing with tension as his thoughts spiraled like elusive threads slipping through his grasp. She finally said it. And now, nothing but radio silence?
Grayson's strides were long, decisive, but his fingers were back on his phone. Trying again.
"—the St. Louis contract is still under review. Mr. Steel? And we have to finalize the site walk for the San Diego project by Thursday. HR also flagged an issue in the—"
Grayson halted mid-hallway, pivoting slightly. "George," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the air. "Later. Five minutes."
George's mouth snapped shut, and he gave a curt nod, slowing his pace as he retreated down the hall like a storm cloud dissipating into the distance.
He stopped for a beat outside his office, heart hammering in a mix of exhilaration and worry. There was a voicemail. And I can't get a hold of her. What if something happened?
She said it. I love you.
He shoved open the heavy door with a force that echoed through the room. And froze in place. A waft of something heady and intoxicating—an artificial blend of floral notes and overly sweet perfume—assaulted his senses first. Then the visual hit him: Elizabeth, elegantly draped in a sleek black faux leather bodycon dress that clung to every curve with meticulous precision. She was positioned by the towering glass windows, her long legs elegantly crossed at the ankle, flipping through a glossy magazine with an air that belied hours of practiced nonchalance.
Everything about her screamed artifice—her relaxed demeanor, the lazy flipping of pages, the serene expression that seemed painted on. The sunlight streamed through the glass, catching the patent shine of her dress, creating a dazzling reflection that illuminated her strategic presence like a spotlight. It was as if she were posing for a high-fashion magazine spread, one stiletto delicately draped over the other, the dress hugging her form like heat-sealed plastic. Her spine arched slightly as she lazily turned the pages, the pose exuding a casualness that was almost too perfect.
Her gaze drifted to the bustling street below, the picture of a woman without a care in the world. But Grayson noticed the telltale signs—her thumb merely grazed the edge of the page without turning it, and her eyes remained fixed in place for far too long. She faced the door, the anticipation palpable.
She had been waiting.
Grayson stretched like a restless animal basking in the sun, rolling the tension from his shoulders, each movement a silent warning. He stepped inside and exhaled deeply, long and measured, rolling his neck with a deliberate crack that released the tension in his shoulders like a cat unfurling in warmth. "Elizabeth," he said with an even tone, dragging his hand through his tousled hair. "This is not how adults handle disappointment."
She didn't immediately look up; her response was a mere sigh through her nose. She turned the magazine page with deliberate slowness, as if his words had not pierced her carefully constructed facade.
Grayson glared at Elizabeth, his frustration as palpable as a wildfire raging out of control, with no water source in sight. "Elizabeth," he growled, his voice a strained thread kept from snapping by sheer force of will. He strode around his desk, deliberately ignoring how her gaze clung to him like a predator stalking its prey. "You can't be in here," he said.
"You weren't answering your phone," she retorted, casually flipping a page without sparing him a glance. "So I thought I'd wait."
"Waiting in someone's office uninvited doesn't make a point," he barked, his voice sharp and cutting. "It makes a scene."
"You thought wrong." His voice was sharp. Clipped. His patience frayed. "This is my office, not your waiting room."
He stepped fully behind his desk, ignoring the way her eyes raked over him like she owned the air between them. With practiced precision, he slammed the desk phone back into place, his other hand feverishly unlocking his phone again. His mind was a frantic storm, praying desperately for Olivia's number to finally connect instead of sliding into the voicemail void once more.
"Whatever this is-whatever you're trying to do—it's futile. I don't have time for this chaos today." He said, frustration written on his face. His focus on his phone again, thumb hovering over Play Voicemail
Grayson could feel it; Olivia's voice was sitting in that voicemail like an unopened letter burning in his pocket.
And yet here he was. Trapped in his own office. With Elizabeth Rhodes.
She took her time uncrossing her legs and gliding closer to his desk, moving with the calculated grace of someone who knew exactly what they looked like and exactly how to use it.
"I figured since I'm already overseeing the redesign of your home," she said, gesturing lightly with one manicured hand, "it made sense to ask a few questions. In person."
Grayson didn't move. He once tapped the edge of his phone against the desk's surface to keep from grinding his teeth.
"Anything you need," he said, voice taut, "should be directed to my mother. She commissioned the remodel. Not me."
Elizabeth gave a light, incredulous laugh and set the magazine down on the corner of his desk, like she'd just arrived for brunch and not barged into his day. "Oh, come on, Grayson. You really want your mother picking out your living room color palette? Again?"
"I really don't care who picks it," he replied flatly, flicking his gaze up at her for just a second. "As long as I can sit in the chair without wondering how many design boards it had to survive."
She stepped closer, tilting her head as her eyes skimmed over his desk. "She told me you're leaning traditional. Something masculine. Leather, deep tones, reclaimed wood… very 'ranch renaissance.' I thought I'd add a moody blue accent wall in the library."
"I barely live there."
Elizabeth paused, processing the new information.
Grayson straightened up, his fingers lightly grazing the polished edge of the desk. There was a subtle tension in his posture.
"I spend most of my time at the penthouse in New York," he continued, his voice steady but distant, as if the words themselves were detached from reality.
Elizabeth's eyes flared with a sudden spark, a mischievous glint dancing within their depths. "Great," she responded swiftly, her voice dripping with syrupy-smooth sweetness. I can come stay there, get a feel for your real style, and bring that inspiration back here."
There it was, a calculated move, cunningly poised. Her smile was serene and unbothered, as if she hadn't just flung gasoline onto smoldering embers.
"Absolutely not," Grayson snapped, his words sharp and cold, like the sound of ice cracking against stone.
Elizabeth blinked, momentarily taken aback.
Grayson leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "This isn't a collaborative retreat. And it sure as hell isn't an invitation."
"Well," she continued with feigned casualness, "if you're not going to give me input on the house, maybe you can at least talk about the gala." She leaned a hip against the corner of his desk, crossing one arm under her chest. "It's six weeks away, and they still don't have your plus-one listed."
"I haven't decided who I'm bringing," he admitted, the words carrying a note of uncertainty. That, at least, was true. Olivia was completely unaware of the gala, and now, her silence on the other end of the phone was deafening.
Elizabeth's smile sharpened, the corners curving with a hint of challenge. "Well, you can't exactly show up alone. Not again." Her voice carried a teasing edge, one that dared him to consider the implications.
Grayson tilted his head slightly, studying her with a steady gaze, as if weighing the unspoken challenge. "You think that would be a problem?" he queried, his tone measured and calm.
"I think," Elizabeth responded, her voice dropping into a lower, more intimate register, "you should make a statement this year." Her words lingered in the air between them, her eyes locking onto his with a silent dare, a spark of mischief dancing in their depths.
Grayson didn't blink, his expression unwavering. "What kind of statement?" he asked, the curiosity evident in his voice.
She smiled, a triumphant gleam in her eyes as if she had already claimed victory in their unspoken battle. "That you're not as untouchable as everyone thinks."
Grayson said nothing. His jaw tightened. His thumb hovered over his phone again.
She tilted her head, her smile tense. "Six weeks, Grayson. It's not forever."
Elizabeth's smirk vanished.
He turned, picked up the desk phone, and pressed the intercom button. "George, please escort Ms. Rhodes out."
Grayson stood up slowly, his posture tall and controlled. "Is that all?" he asked, a straight smile fixed on his face, masking any hint of emotion.
She straightened her spine, meeting his gaze with an air of composed determination. "For now," she replied, her tone crisp and direct.
"Good," he replied, navigating around his polished mahogany desk and swinging open the door with a practiced gesture. The message was unmistakable, a silent command for her to leave.
George, standing a few feet away in the corridor, looked up expectantly as Elizabeth exited the room. Her heels clicked sharply on the polished tile floor, each step like a punctuation mark in the silent hallway.
Before she vanished around the corner, she glanced back with a casual, confident smile. "Tell your mother I'll send mood boards by Friday," she called, the promise lingering in the air as she disappeared from view.
Grayson remained silent. The door closed behind her with a gentle but definitive click, sealing the room in solitude.
Only then did he finally exhale, releasing the breath he had been unconsciously holding. He dragged a weary hand down his face, feeling the weight of the encounter settle into his bones. Grayson sank back into the leather embrace of his chair.
The voicemail. Listen to the voicemail ~I love you
With the weight of those three words echoing like a thunderous echo in his heart. His finger hovered above the screen, pausing briefly before he eventually hit play. Olivia's voice, comforting and well-known, enveloped him like a gentle hug, making everything else around him disappear.
Voicemail from Olivia.
Transcribed exactly as it played.
*"Hi. It's me.
I guess that part was obvious when you saw the number. Anyway…"*
[Long breath. Slight rustle, like she's shifting where she's sitting. A faint clink of a glass in the background.]
"Okay, I'm just going to say this before I chicken out, or talk myself into five more drafts of this moment in my head."
"I love you. There. I said it."
[Pause. Exhale.]
"And if I already texted that by the time you're hearing this—uh, yeah—this was supposed to come first.I had a whole dramatic reveal in mind. But apparently I'm emotionally scrambled today."
[Another breath. Her tone softens.]
"Look, before your brain starts making assumptions… I'm not running away.
"I'm not running away, Grayson. I know it might look like that. Hell, maybe you expect that. But I'm not."I just—honestly—I couldn't stand to see your face right after I said it. That smug, 'I told you so' look you get? Yeah. That one." "You get when you've won."
[There's a noise like she slapped her own forehead lightly.]"And let's be honest… You have won. Because I didn't even know I was falling in the first place.
I looked up one day and it had already happened.And by then, it was too late to stop it."
"So now I'm stuck. With these… feelings.And your stupid face."
[Another little laugh. Warmer this time.]
"So. I just need a minute to breathe. To… recalibrate.A day.Twenty-four hours to collect myself before I see you again and completely forget how to play it cool without being completely unravel in front of you."
"So… I'm going to get drunk with my bestie and pretend for one night that telling you didn't feel like setting my own chest on fire. Pretend like I didn't just say this out loud."
"And later… I'll call you.
Or maybe show up. Or, I might even let you know where I am so you can come to me. I don't know."
"But you can wait one day, right? Just one?"
[A softer pause. Then, quietly:]
~"I love you." "There. I said it. Again.
Unless the text said it first.
Whatever. Bye."
Click.
Olivia's voice faded and for a long moment, the only sound in his office was the quiet hum of the air vent and the ticking second hand on the wall clock.
He didn't move, not immediately. Grayson just sat there, phone still in hand, thumb hovering like he might rewind the message just to make sure he hadn't imagined it.
She said it.Twice.
~I love you.
He let out a slow breath one he hadn't realized he was holding in a vice grip at the center of his chest. It unraveled through his ribs, hot and slow and seismic, like everything inside him had just shifted a few degrees out of alignment. Or into alignment.
She loved him. And she was spiraling about it.
Grayson tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling, lips parted in a quiet exhale. A single, uncontainable grin pulled at one corner of his mouth despite everything else.
"Smug face," he murmured to himself, shaking his head. "That's what did it."
She knew him too well already. Knew he'd react exactly like this smug, victorious, completely undone by her voice. She beat him to the punch, again.
But under that amusement… was something deeper.A weight. A need.
Because she hadn't just said it and then run. No she told him why. Told him what it cost her. What she was doing to get through it. And more importantly, what she wasn't doing.
She wasn't leaving.
That part sat like iron in his chest solid and anchoring. She thought he'd assume she was bailing. That she'd confessed something real and then disappeared.
And to be honest… he might have, if she hadn't said it. If she hadn't reached out first. He had years of reasons to expect people to bolt when it got messy.
But not her not his Little Fox.
She just needed… a moment. A little space to collect herself. To shake off the vulnerability and hide behind sarcasm and tequila shots with her best friend.
Grayson sat back in his chair, phone still in hand, his thumb hovering like he might rewind the voicemail and listen to her voice again
His jaw clenched tightly as he stood, fingers raking through his hair in frustration. His chest felt constricted, as though struggling to contain the wild beating of his heart.
It was as if something powerful inside him pounded so fiercely it threatened to shatter his ribs. Because this—this intense feeling that had been brewing within him for weeks—was not unrequited. She loved him. She loved him. And he was powerless, unable to find her to confess that he loved her in return. The sense of helplessness gnawed at him, shaking him to his core.
Grayson was unaccustomed to losing control. In business, he commanded with precision. In conflict, he maneuvered with strategic acuity. In pursuit, he was relentless. Yet this woman—this enigmatic Little Fox—had dismantled every defense he had meticulously crafted over the years. And now, she was somewhere out there, slipping through his fingers like a thread unraveling in the wind.
His mind was already turning calculating the earliest flight to... where? What he wanted; what he needed was to find her. And that was the problem. He didn't even know where she was. Olivia had confessed everything told him she loved him, yet he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He Couldn't show up, he Couldn't call her back. Couldn't even pinpoint what city she was in. That was it. No destination. No address. Just a casual "not yet." Olivia was diffianly gone. Somewhere. With someone. A best friend, apparently—but he didn't know her name.
He never asked why hadn't he asked not that it mattered now. He had seen a glimce of her face on her phone while they were in the car in new york but he was two occupy rapture in her to remember a piture on a phone. Would she allow him to speak to her if the call went through Or would she'd try to shield Olivia from him once that voicemail started to sink in.
Grayson stood slowly, rolling his neck, letting the stiffness bleed out of his limbs and he paced.
Grayson took a slow, deliberate lap around the desk, the soft soles of his shoes whispering across the polished wood floor. His fingers glided over the cool, smooth leather of the chair's back, then traced the sharp, angular edge of the window ledge. Beyond the glass, the sprawling city of Austin lay bathed in the golden glow of early evening, expansive sky, vibrant and alive with the symphony of early evening traffic, a cacophony of honking horns and rumbling engines. Yet, for Grayson, the world had shrunk to the confines of a single, resonant voice and the profound silence that lingered in its wake. She had asked for just one day. He could easily grant her that. She didn't require him to pursue her—not yet. She needed the reassurance that he would remain there, steadfast, once the day had passed. With a heavy sigh, Grayson sank back into his chair, the leather yielding beneath him. drawing his phone close against his chest, and let his weary eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the moment.
I love you.There. I repeated it. Bye.
That voicemail had shattered him in the gentlest way possible.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow, he was going to find her—smug face and all—and show her exactly what those three words meant to him.
He was still sitting in the chair, Olivia's voice echoing in his head like a secret prayer, when his phone lit up again. This time, it wasn't her.
Daniel Beckett.
The ringtone was custom—"Feel Good Inc." by Gorillaz. It had started as a joke years ago when Daniel had proclaimed himself Grayson's emotional support animal.
Grayson hesitated a beat, then answered with a gruff, "Yeah."
"Damn. That's how you greet your best friend now?" Daniel's voice was a rush of static and swagger through the speaker. "You sound like you just got off a war crimes tribunal."
Grayson leaned back in his chair and smirked, rubbing a hand down his face. "You calling for emotional support, or just to interrupt the thirty seconds of peace I had all day?"
"Peace?" Daniel snorted. "My man, I work in sports marketing. I've had three athletes call me today asking why their golf tournament doesn't have a tequila sponsor and whether or not they can bring actual goats to the charity shootout."
Grayson laughed. "Goats?"
"Yeah, apparently it's a thing now. Brand synergy or whatever. I'm just trying to get through one day without explaining what a deliverable is to someone with a million-dollar shoe deal and a three-word vocabulary."
"Sounds like karma finally got around to you," Grayson muttered.
"Don't act like you wouldn't trade half your schedule to yell at someone for labeling printer paper as 'light beige' instead of 'ivory.'"
Grayson chuckled under his breath and shook his head. "How's business otherwise?"
"Busy. Which is the goal, right? Big contracts, bigger headaches. We're closing on the Medford property tomorrow morning. I might come up to New York early, by the way—Thursday instead of Saturday."
Grayson frowned. "Why?"
"Don't start." Daniel's voice got that familiar half-playful warning tone. "The housewarming party's Saturday, and you promised to show up."
"I said I'd try," Grayson corrected, standing and walking toward the window.
"You gave me a head nod and a vague affirmative grunt. In Preston language, that's as good as blood oath."
Grayson smirked. "Your party will survive without me."
Daniel ignored him. "Anyway, if I get up there early, I figured we could grab a drink. Maybe hit that private bourbon spot near your penthouse. I'll invite Haley and guess who she's finally dragging along?"
Grayson turned from the window. "Do I want to know?"
"Liv," Daniel said brightly. "You know Haley's best friend. Still think you two would hit it off."
Grayson's throat tightened for a half-second, but he recovered quickly.
"Still on that?"
"Bro, she's exactly your type. Smart, beautiful, knows how to hold her liquor and call out bullshit with a smile. What's not to like?"
Grayson let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Sounds exhausting."
"She's not a job interview, Preston."
"No," Grayson murmured, turning away again, "but she sounds like someone I'd already know."
"Exactly! That's the whole point."
Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jesus."
Daniel laughed. "Relax. I'm not saying marry her. Just show up and be charming. Or pretend to. Let her reject you for once."
Grayson's expression shifted slightly amused and pained all at once. "Might be too late for that."
"What?"
"Nothing," he muttered, brushing it off. "What time Thursday?"
"Not sure yet. Depends on how smooth the closing goes. Why, you gonna hide?"
"Maybe."
Daniel snorted. "Dude. It's a housewarming. You show up. Drink overpriced whiskey. Pretend to admire the dumb sculpture I let Haley buy. Easy."
There was a pause.
Grayson sighed. "Something tells me it won't be easy."
Daniel's voice softened slightly. "You good, though? You sound…"
"Tired?"
"No. You sound… weird."
Grayson didn't answer right away. He picked at the edge of his sleeve, gaze distant again. Olivia's voice was still pressed against the inside of his skull.
"I had a day."
"Bad?"
He hesitated. "Complicated."
Daniel's voice turned cautious, but still teasing. "Wait did Elizabeth pop up again?"
Grayson groaned. "She was in my office when I walked in. Like a damn Bond villain in a bodycon dress."
Daniel choked. "Jesus. What'd she want?"
"She's redecorating the Austin house. Says my mother asked her to oversee it."
Daniel cackled. "Oh, so she's got backup authority. That's dangerous. Did she try to get you to pick out throw pillows or commit to an accent wall?"
"She tried to invite herself to my penthouse in New York."
That quieted Daniel for a beat. "She what?"
"Told me she wanted to see how I really live… to 'capture my style.' I shut it down. Hard."
Daniel whistled low. "Damn, Preston. That woman's tenacious."
"She's delusional."
"You sure you didn't date her longer than you're telling me?"
Grayson rolled his eyes. "It was two dinners and a poorly-timed charity event."
"Still enough to get you cursed, apparently."
Grayson shook his head. "I'm not cursed."
"You are definitely haunted. Different thing."
They both laughed for a second an easy, welcome sound in the emotional haze of the last hour.
Daniel cleared his throat. "Alright. Just checking in. Don't forget Saturday. Or Thursday. I'll text you either way."
"Yeah," Grayson said, softer now. "Talk soon."
He hung up, and the silence enveloped the room once more. Yet this time, it wasn't the oppressive silence that weighed down the air. Instead, it was rich and satiating, like a cocoon brimming with possibilities. Because regardless of what Daniel had uttered over the phone, Grayson's heart was set. He already had his plus-one in mind. She just wasn't aware of it yet.